Forbidden words uttered amongst the dead. We shall not be conquered or corrupted explaimed the glorious who stood their ground against the tide of vile wretches that erupted forth from an earthen womb. A necromantic horde filled the usually peacefull angorian tundra,an army long forgotten from within the bowls of hell.
An army of the damned, animated for a single purpose, to lay waste to the locustic plague that is man.
"Either mother nature herself has grown to hate us, or death has succumbed to his own condition." whined the once proud king, who now had been reduced to no more than a babbling fool fit only as a jester in his own court.
Casting aside his fear a young blacksmith, not yet old enough to wed, gathered blade an armourcrafted by his own hands and set out from his home. The heavy iron slowed him greatly as he ran to the temple, but alas his strong heart gave him strength enough to reach his destination. "Father help me" pleaded the boy "Bless my sword to that it might become an instument of God and cut down those vile beasts of the the unholy. Bless my cuirass and shield so that damned blades may break upon them, my greaves so that they might carry me switly to battle and my bracers so that i might have the strength to return home once all is done.".
The priest turned to the boy and laughed, "The gods have deserted us boy, they care not for your courage or perhaps it is more your stupidity". Disgusted at the holy mans lack of faith the boy donned his armour, raised his shield and sheathed his sword then set out for the city gates. Not long later the boy came upon the gates, their marble and steel were the only thing standing between the boy and the battle he seeked.
As the army mobilised, the boy snuck into their ranks and so passed the final barriers.
The monstrous hordes roared; snarled, bayed and howled in anticiation of the slaughter to come. Everything went deathly silent. Not even a bird could be heard in the air, only the sound of death. Sudeenly a horn blows, the Guards break into a sprint running straight for the undead. The necrotic host marched forward in turn with the guard, shields clash as the hit each other at high speed, most got knocked back. The undead recovered quickly, attacking with their fangs, claws and blades they set about massacaring the soldiers. All but one turned and fled, all but one stood against the andless tides. The boy raised his sword, a mad glint twinkled in his eyes. He ran into the midst of the horde, slashing and hacking at them, ducking and diving away from their attacks. One by one the undead fell to his blade, each minute more fell only to be replaces almost instantly. The boy fought for hours, exhausting both his body and mind, but yet he fought and continued to fight when trained soldiers would not.
The boy gasped for breath as the undead horde moved away from him, then, the earth began to shake. The boy looked up ahead of him to see a giant of a man towering above the rest of the horde each step he took shook the ground.
Stopping mere feet away form the young lad he began to speak with a malevolent whisper echoing every word he spoke. "You, boy. you have fought the armies of the dead and nigh conquered them. Their blades break against your shield, your blade cuts them truely. how is this so?". "I have faith" the boy retorted "Faith not in Gods or priest, not in armies or king but in my self, For if I do not fight against these legions then none other shall". The giant, standing seven foot above the boy, raised his sword and swung at the lad in anger, only to find his attack parried. A look of disgust spread accross his face "I will not allow my army to be beaten by a mere pup" the giant shouted. Attack after attack was parried by the boy, the warriors circled each other looking for weaknesses but there was none to be found. Attack after attack, blow after blow, each bringing the warriors closer to exhaustion. With a final burst of energy the boy slashed at his enemies neck in the hopes it would reach. The giant lunged at the boy piercing him through the chest. With his final breath the boy watched in wonder as the giants head seperated from his body. The hordes of undead fell, their bones crumbled to dust once again at peace.
The boy's sacrifice would go unknown forever as the city had been hiding in fear rather than watch the battle. All the glory for this victory would be given to harlequin king, it would be given to the unworth but alas such is life.
Never forget the boy and his sacrifice, learn to never give up and have faith in yourself even in the darkest of times